


To Memory

by mechawaka



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Holding Hands, Post-Canon, these nerds are SO MARRIED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28258863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechawaka/pseuds/mechawaka
Summary: During a new Church holiday about remembering the past, Felix and Byleth reminisce on their own history.---Written for Rinoa as part of the Felileth server's Secret Santa event!
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52
Collections: Felileth Secret Santa 2020





	To Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MatchaBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatchaBlue/gifts).



> short and sweet! merry felileth!!

Any number of years could pass, wars could be declared and resolved, national borders and public opinion could shift - and Byleth would still hate parties. The voices and the eyes and the inescapable thrum of a hundred human bodies never failed to overwhelm her, to drive her off to some far-flung corner in search of peace.

She agreed that this new holiday - one that memorialized the _true_ history of Sothis and the Nabateans - was worth celebrating, but the resultant gathering had quickly evolved from historical observation to...a party. She’d noticed the signs early, though, and subtly extracted herself from the reception hall; with spirits already flowing, it was a simple feat, even for the new archbishop.

Luckily, Garreg Mach had never wanted for far-flung corners, and the heavy Ethereal Moon snow cover meant that the grounds were mostly deserted. So, too, was her longtime favorite hiding spot: the Goddess Tower. 

She stared up at its half-organic silhouette, smiling nostalgically, and gathered up her mantle to climb its steps, purposefully leaving the door unlocked after it clicked closed behind her.

The tower’s first floor was empty, devoid of the largely meaningless and ornamental furniture that had once cluttered its circular perimeter. She and Seteth still observed certain Seirosian holidays - the ones based in fact - upstairs, but hadn’t yet found a permanent use for this space.

Well - _Seteth_ hadn’t found a permanent use for it. Byleth used it quite often as a place to breathe, to think, far away from the demands of her position.

She went straight to the wide, paneless window at the back of the room. It was a prime location for contemplative thought, as it had a clear view of the mountainside and the officer’s academy lawn, allowing one to observe nature or people depending on the mood.

But she wasn’t here to contemplate; she was here to lure. Like any good fisherman, she’d already set her bait and line, and now all she had to do was wait.

Barely ten minutes had passed when the snow-dulled silence was broken by soft footfalls. To an untrained ear, they might have sounded natural - like a strong wind jostling a bush, or ice falling from an overladen branch - but Byleth knew better. Still, she maintained her neutral position, merely standing at the windowsill and pretending to watch the snowflakes drift by outside. This was all part of the game; all part of the catch.

 _One_ , she counted, listening for a change in sound quality as the footsteps approached the tower; _two_ , as their cadence shifted to climb the stairs; and _three_ , at the hushed, telltale click of the door’s latch.

At the fourth beat, she’d spun on her heel and drawn her sword; it met Felix’s in the center of its arc, their harsh metallic clash ringing out in the enclosed space.

“Predictable,” he declared, wearing an invigorated grin that rivaled her own.

Byleth turned his blade and stepped aside, chuckling a small puff of steam into the air. She glanced to the door - unsecured - and her position at the window - laughably vulnerable - then back to him, cocking an eyebrow. “ _I’m_ predictable?”

Felix followed her gaze, grunted in concession, and sheathed his sword. She did the same; they both knew that this tiny space was unsuitable for anything further than their customary greeting.

“Lasted a pretty long time in there,” he said, joining her at the window. “Was it the noise?”

She leaned against his shoulder and offered a hand, palm up, on the sill. “Maybe I just wanted a moment alone with my husband?”

It was amazing that after three years of marriage, Felix still blushed cherry-red at any mention of it. He frowned and averted his eyes; when he saw her bare hands, his frown only deepened.

“I _knew_ you’d forget your gloves,” he grumbled, pulling her closer. Despite his sharp tone, he took great care in wrapping his cloak around her shoulders, ensuring that she was snugly tucked into his side. “You’re going to lose fingers one day.”

Byleth hadn’t forgotten a single thing - and, judging by the fondly put-upon smile tugging at his mouth, Felix was quite aware. He took her hand, wincing at the temperature of her skin.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, offering him the silver flask of brandy from her belt. “Mercedes says I just have bad circulation.”

He hummed doubtfully, accepted the flask, and uncorked it with his teeth. Byleth waited until he’d taken a gulp of the aged liquor to continue, “Probably because of the crest stone strapped to my heart.”

Felix choked in surprise mid-swallow, and their insulated snow-bubble of quiet was shattered once again as he coughed and sputtered. When he could speak again, he shoved the flask back at her and spat hoarsely, “You did that on purpose!”

“Did I?” she asked mildly, watching him with half-lidded amusement. She lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to his black-gloved knuckles. “I invite you to prove it.”

Something darkly competitive flashed in his eyes - something that said, were they not attending a function in their official capacities, he’d make her regret that invitation. 

(But they _were_ here in their official capacities, so he settled for a stern look, which Byleth returned with a coy tilt of her head. A promise deferred.)

They passed the flask back and forth for a while, savoring the simple pleasure of each other’s company. After this three-day celebration, Felix would head back to Fraldarius and Byleth back to her office. This was their normal routine; outside holidays like these, they were only together for a week out of every moon. The frequent partings had taught them to cherish the time they had, but each one still stung.

 _All the more reason to keep working_ , Seteth had advised her in the beginning, _to quickly reach the day when the faithful no longer need our guidance_.

The brandy seared an acrid path down her throat. Rather than take another sip, she set the flask on the sill.

“Hey,” Felix said quietly, nudging her shoulder with his. When she looked up, he had on a small, bittersweet smile. “Remember when we met here after the grand ball?”

Nostalgia hit her again, hard, dislodging the melancholy. She recalled the Felix of that night: seventeen years old, already more adept at the sword than most of her old mercenary band, with a beetle-hard shell and a tongue like a lash...and _zero_ interpersonal skills.

“When you said you’d always be more comfortable holding a sword than a woman’s hand?” she prodded, unable to resist an opportunity to tease him, and wiggled their entwined fingers. “Of course I do.”

His face pinched into an expression Byleth could only think to describe as ‘ _the desire to fist-fight one’s past self_.’

“No, not that part,” he muttered, gathering up her other hand, too - as if to prove a point - and absently rubbing warmth back into them both. “When we made a pledge to the goddess.”

She could still see the faint dusting of pink along a younger Felix’s cheekbones as he vehemently swore that he was concerned _only_ with battle and _nothing_ else, vowing to Sothis Herself that he’d make Byleth ‘taste defeat.’

(He’d made so very many stubborn declarations in those few minutes, but her favorite would always be, ‘ _You’ll have to settle for being mistaken as my lover_.’ Neither of them could have imagined meeting here again - lovers, unmistakably - at the time.)

“You promised to surpass me,” she said, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling at the memory of his zealous conviction.

He sighed wistfully. “Never did manage to achieve that one, huh?”

“Guess I distracted you too much with all that romance,” Byleth quipped, her voice cracking with laughter before she was even done speaking. She closed her mouth harder this time, shooting him an apologetic glance as her muffled giggles continued.

“Okay, get it all out,” he huffed, trying his best to look cross with her, but his scowl was gradually wobbling into a smirk. 

She did, immediately, pouring her mirth out the window and into the evening air. Like all other sounds, it echoed locally but dissipated outside the tower, swallowed up by the snow. 

Felix watched her with soft, affectionate eyes, perhaps reliving memories of his own; he wasn’t the only one who had changed since their last encounter here, after all. At the time of the grand ball, Byleth had barely shown her students a smile, let alone a full-on laughing fit. The difference - much like Felix’s transformation from surly loner to attentive spouse - was nothing short of miraculous.

When she’d finally calmed down, she _thunked_ her head sideways onto his shoulder. “Sorry,” she said half-sincerely. “You were just so serious.”

He snorted and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I was an idiot. Listen -” he squeezed her hands, “- I made another pledge that night.”

“Oh?” Byleth shifted until she could see his face without moving from her secure position. “Are you allowed to make more than one of those?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t care. It wasn’t for Sothis, anyway.”

That made sense. On a scale of Mercedes to Edelgard, Byleth would place his religious faith squarely in the center: absolute disinterest.

A few people passed by outside, hurrying up from the bridge to the brazier-warmed cathedral, their level of intoxication evidenced in their breathless merriment. (Byleth hoped they were also drunk enough to be immune to Seteth’s inevitable lecture on carousing in the house of the goddess. He was constantly itching to recite that one.)

Felix cut an impatient glance to the side until the group’s upbeat clamor had faded, like he could force them to go faster through strength of will alone. 

“I...wanted to become strong enough to stand next to you,” he said when it was quiet again, keeping his eyes downcast and focused on their hands. Byleth ran her thumbs along the sides of his palms in support, wordlessly encouraging him to take his time. 

“Not as your student; as an equal,” he clarified, brows knotting. “I convinced myself it would be a truer challenge if I never said it out loud - but that was just denial.”

Byleth was glad they’d both been able to move past that fiercely defensive logic over the years. She tapped her left boot against his right, pointing out, “You fulfilled it, though.”

His eyes - vibrant amber-gold on a monochrome backdrop - flicked to hers, creasing warmly, then strayed out the window. “I did. We did.”

The snowfall had steadily lessened to nothing during their conversation, and now only heavy gray storm clouds remained overhead, darkening rapidly to charcoal. 

“That’s my point. I got what I wanted, and I’m still getting it -” a shadow of Felix’s earlier blush returned when Byleth raised a suggestive eyebrow, “- _oh_ , you know what I mean!”

She turned her face to snicker into his shoulder, equal parts amused at his reaction and delighted that he’d told such an intricate story just to cheer her up. 

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she said, taking a moment to just close her eyes and inhale his grounding clove-leather scent. “Thank you, Felix.”

He shifted awkwardly. “No problem.”

If it was a universal truth that Byleth would always hate parties, then it was also true that Felix would never be quite comfortable accepting gratitude, no matter how much he may deserve it. (It was an ongoing battle on both fronts, she thought; she could last upwards of two hours at a gathering these days, and _he_ could receive a bit of recognition without detonating. Progress.)

“- Anyway,” he went on quickly, as if to distance himself as far as possible from the previous moment, “that’s what this stupid new holiday is about, right? Remembering things?”

Byleth’s eyes flew open.

“Shit,” she muttered, awash in cold horror; in the spirit of holy memory, perhaps, her brain had deigned to remind her about the _end_ of this holiday - the very specific one that she and Seteth had spent the last week writing and rehearsing.

“- I was supposed to speak at the end of the night.”

The breath left her lungs in a drawn-out, self-deprecating sigh. Even if she were to leave the tower at a dead sprint, this very instant, she’d never make it to the reception hall in time.

Felix barked out a single entertained laugh. “Wow. Seteth and Dimitri are probably crawling every corner of the monastery right now.”

(If Byleth didn’t know any better, she’d say he sounded a bit smug about that.)

The guilty shunned-responsibility wave ebbed out just as easily as it had arrived, though; in fact, it left her a little more rebellious than it had found her. She’d played the good hostess all day and most of the afternoon, hadn’t she? 

_Yeah_ , Byleth agreed with herself indignantly. She’d even put on the big robe and the dumb hat! Didn’t she deserve an evening of peace after all that pomp and circumstance?

“Seteth knows exactly where I am,” she replied, nuzzling belligerently closer to her husband, “and if he comes in here, I’ll throw him out the window.”

Felix’s shoulders quivered with suppressed glee; he always did enjoy a good threat. He slid an arm around her waist, splaying his hand out protectively over her hip bone, and assured her, “Not if I throw him out first.”

**Author's Note:**

> seteth, wrangling a herd of wasted nobles in the background: BYLETH PLEASE


End file.
